


Moonlight Serenade

by Clare_nightly



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28207806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clare_nightly/pseuds/Clare_nightly
Summary: Drinks, dancing, and playful banter.
Relationships: Ilsa Herbert/Nick Herbert, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	Moonlight Serenade

Robin opened her mouth to let out a jaw cracking yawn. It had been a long night of fruitless surveillance--and beyond the fact that her mark had failed to show, she had also forgotten to pack snacks. Which meant that she was not only exhausted, but starving as well. As if in response to this line of thought, her stomach growled. She sighed, and checked her watch. 9 AM. Barclay was set to take over from her at 9:15.

  
Her phone rang, and she picked up.

  
“Any luck with Ocean?”

  
“Hello yourself,” she replied, feeling amused despite her tiredness at Strike’s greeting--or lack thereof.

  
“Oh--sorry--good morning,” he began again. “How are you doing?”

  
“Oh, beyond the fact that I’m bloody exhausted, so starving that I might eat my hat, and I have the exact same amount of evidence on Ocean as I did before I started surveillance?”

  
“Your hat might prove difficult to digest,” he remarked dryly.

  
“Yeah, well, I’m getting desperate,”

  
“What time is Barclay set to relieve you?”

  
“In fifteen,”

  
“Well, buy yourself some biscuits and put it down to expenses. Can’t have my partner doing jobs on empty,”

  
“You’re so generous,” Robin replied, chuckling. “And here I was going to settle for a full English from the diner across the street,”

  
“As you like,” he hesitated, making up his mind. “So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

  
Robin idly watched a woman pushing a stroller down the street. “Nothing much. Probably try to get a kip in when I get home, then work on research for the Miser case from my laptop. Catch up on laundry, call mum. Usual stuff,”

  
“Well, Ilsa and Nick invited me to this party tonight--drinks, dancing, the like--at that retro bar by her office? Some sort of work thing put on by Ilsa’s office, I dunno--I think Nick was keen to have someone there he actually knew--I suppose what I’m really asking is, d’you want to go? With me, I mean. To the party.” He fumbled his words, quite unusual for him.

  
“Erm, yeah, sure. Sounds lovely. What time?”

  
“Seven. Meet you there?”

  
“Sure. Speak soon?”

  
“Right,” he ended the call.

Robin stared at her phone for a moment, trying to process what had just occurred, and whether or not tonight’s party constituted a date. Her earlier exhaustion had vanished in lieu of anticipation, and she knew instinctively that she would accomplish very little in the way of work today.

  
***  
  
The bar was warm and crowded, filled with men and women dressed to the nines and enjoying cocktails. The band in the corner was playing old fashioned swing music, which, combined with the wood paneling and yellowed lights of the bar, gave one the not unpleasant feeling of stepping back in time.  
Robin surveyed the room, and located her imposing partner with little trouble.

Strike watched her as she crossed the space between them, noting with pleasure that she had worn the familiar blue dress from her birthday, and that she had styled her hair down.

  
“You look,” he paused, taking her in. “Absolutely beautiful,” Robin felt herself blush.

  
“Thank you,” she murmured shyly. “You clean up nicely as well,” His suit was noticeably less tightly fitted, and he was clean shaven for the first time since the conclusion of Bamborough case. Free from its typical stubble, his face looked younger, more vulnerable.

  
“Amazing what a shower and a shave will do for a man,” he joked. 

Robin laughed, and feeling bold, slipped her arm in his. “Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?” she asked playfully, feeling the shyness dissapate.

He raised his eyebrows. “Of course. This way, milady,” They made their way through the crowd, which parted naturally to allow for Strike’s bulk. As they walked, she scanned the room for any sign of Nick and Ilsa, to no avail.

  
“Nick and Ilsa aren’t here yet,” Strike said, reading her thoughts. “Said they were running late, had to go back home. Cat drama, or something of that nature,”

  
“Fiver says Nick forgot to let them back inside,”

  
“I’ll take that bet,” Strike smiled, unconsciously letting his hand drift from her arm to the small of her back as they sidled up to the bar. He ordered a white wine and whisky, and they turned to survey the room.

  
“Want to play our game?” Robin asked, nudging him.

  
“Sure. You pick first,”

  
Robin glanced around, searching for an interesting mark. “Fifteen feet away to your right. Male, fifties, graying hair. What’s the story?”

  
Strike turned to study the man in question. He was dressed in an older suit and clean shaven, and nursing a pint. He kept glancing around the room, as if he were looking for someone.  
“Married,” Strike whispered. “Happily. His wife’s in the loo. Here on some sort of special date, anniversary perhaps? Not used to bars as nice as this--feels a little uncomfortable, would rather be at his local. But he made the effort to clean up, so it’s clear he does care for his wife,”

  
“Interesting,” Robin replied, watching the man in question. Sure enough, a woman appeared a moment later, joining the man, who was visibly pleased to see her. “Nice one,” Robin commented. “Your turn,”

  
Strike scanned the room for a mark. “Across the bar, elderly woman, blue feathers,” This game had developed as a way to pass the time on long stakeouts, and had quickly become a bit of an inside joke between the partners. They continued to play their game for a few more minutes before falling into companionable silence. The bar was busier than ever, but there was still no sign of Nick and Ilsa.

  
“Oh, I love this song,” Robin remarked, breaking their reverie as the band struck up a new number, languid in tempo.

“Moonlight serenade, right?” Strike asked.

She nodded. “Isn’t it lovely?” Robin watched the dancers swaying to the music, and Strike watched her, noting her wistful expression.

  
“I’d ask you to dance,” he blurted out, regretting it instantly. She looked over at him in surprise. “If I could. Bloody leg,” he finished lamely, taking a sip of his whisky to cover the moment, feeling foolish.

  
Robin took another sip of her white wine, and, steeling herself, held her hand out to Strike. “C’mon then,” He stared at her, mouth open. She laughed, trying to break the tension. “Honestly, Strike, it’s not as if I’m expecting you to twirl and dip me,”

  
Strike felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “I’ll hold you to that,” he replied seriously, taking her hand in his.

  
The dance floor was more crowded than it had been earlier, with most of the couples in the room taking advantage of the slow song. They carefully made their way to an empty space, and turned to face each other. Maintaining eye contact, Strike very deliberately placed one hand at the small of her back, as she placed hers on his shoulder. They began to turn in a slow, awkward circle, swaying side to side with the music.

  
“Remind you of your school formal?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  
“A little,” she conceded, laughing. “Though the company has certainly improved,” He grinned, unconsciously squeezing her hand.

  
They drifted closer as the song went on. Robin let her eyes fall shut, savoring the feel and closeness of her partner, breathing him in. Lavender and cigarette smoke. Two things that shouldn’t go together, but did. She sighed contentedly.

  
“Robin,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

  
“Mmm?”

  
“The song is over,”

  
Robin opened her eyes. “Oh,” The dance floor was emptying as the band started up a new number, but his hands hadn’t moved. Her gaze found his, and she felt his hand move to brush a strand of hair from her face. Her insides fluttered.

  
“Robin,” Strike repeated, his eyes darkening. He leaned in, and pressed his lips to hers.

  
***

Ilsa nudged Nick as they surreptitiously watched their friends from the bar. “I told you this would work,” she whispered gleefully.  
  
“Woman, your meddling never ceases to amaze me,” Nick whispered back. “Just promise me you won’t ever use your skills of manipulation on me,”  
  
She arched her eyebrows. “I’ll make no such promises,”  
Nick laughed. “Fiver says they try to pretend they aren’t a couple,” he offered, watching them continue to sway on the dance floor.  
“Not a chance,” Ilsa replied, nestling into her husband’s embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve found myself listening to a lot of old music lately, and my absolute favorite is Moonlight Serenade, by the Glenn Miller Orchestra. Thought it would be fun to incorporate into a fic. Also, what’s not to like about our detective duo getting dressed up and going dancing? :)


End file.
